


feathers and hide

by Kikichu



Category: DCU
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2019-10-25 08:09:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17721410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kikichu/pseuds/Kikichu
Summary: Jason and Damian explore what they share. It was more to see why the two get along so well despite their rough interactions.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on muses I have with a few others. This may be considered Divergent for some, but not for others. It all depends which Damian and which Jason AU y'all affiliate more with.

**Petrichor.**  
It’s a smell Jason knows well. The smell of wet pavement and damp foliage; a hint, of course, of trash in the breeze. It’s not Gotham. It never will be; but that, for Jason, is exactly what he needs. Going back to Gotham means too many memories. Going back means facing a lot of anger and other emotions he will never be ready for.  
It’s filthy here in a way that Gotham will never live up to, not while Bruce has it in his grasp.  
It smells something foul on a sweltering day, smells something FIERCE. But when it’s damp like this, it’s when he feels the calmest. 

It helps that the skin tight jeans aren’t threatening to press sweat soaked denim to his junk and that his shirt isn’t going to shimmer like a cheap fanfic poster bitch. The stretch isn’t excruciatingly tight when he sets his foot on the ledge and leans to peer over the edge. It’s the perfect view of the warehouse. He’s been up here for hours, the better part of the day, in fact. He’s bored of pissing on the leaves clumped in the corner. Bored of pacing and staring at the same streak of vehicles passing along the road. Jason tugs off the hood, sweat-slicked hair falling into his eyes as he adjusts to the un-tinted world.  
Still dead. Nothing. The warehouse is empty. The lights still out and the lot empty. No sound in the alleys and no smoke in the air. 

Slumping back into the dollar store lawn chair he exhales and starts up a cigarette, worst case scenario he’ll stub it out if he hears a car (Like hell he would stub it out; he’d raid and finish it before the thing roached out).  
It’s not even three lazy drags in when there’s a familiar ruffle. It doesn’t alarm him. He knows it anywhere.  
“Hey little Red.” he teases, though there isn’t an answer. Not a vocal answer at least.  
Damian takes the cigarette from his fingers and steals a few drags.  
“I take you are waiting for someone to roll out the welcome mat for you?” The younger of the two slumps into his lap, the chair creaking as the plastic sling straps shift again.  
He doesn’t need to take the cigarette from the other, Damian sticks it between his lips, leaving Jays arms to wind around him.  
“There’s wind that a shipment comes in tonight; they’re late.” Jay mutters. He can’t see Damians lips upturn ever so slightly.  
“Maybe they’ve already been dealt with.”  
Jason exhales from his nose; that sounded more like a statement than it had a suggestion.  
“Seems like you’d be in the know, Little Red.” His hands slide down to his hips. “Are we trying to do the same job or did you plan to take up the rest of my evening?”  
Damian does nothing audible to reply. He shouldn’t have to by now. Instead, his hand drops to his chest, tugging him by the skin tight top fingers find the zipper, a hard tug to expose his chest. He doesn’t need to be careful; no one’s coming. The shipment container is open and the smuggled bodies for sex trade unleashed over their bound captors; coast guard called. The boy grins at the floating shipment of rioting victims. He didn’t kill anyone, he only signed their endings; not his fault- the bat can’t blame him. Damian leans over Jason again, standing now, towering over him(one of the few times he can say he feels taller) than the other. It’s even better that Jason isn’t expecting it, distracted with the kiss he doesn’t pay attention to his hand as he grabs Jay’s tact-knife at his thigh and uses the butt of it to crash through the plastic, snapping the chair and sending them to the cement. 

“RED.” Jay grunts as he hits the ground, the chair flattening under them. Damian gives no respite, no quips that Jason managed to save him and the cigarette from toppling over.  
His hands push his shirt open, exposing the rest of his torso as he shoves his jacket and shirt down to his biceps, impatient. Watching Jays chest heave as he chuckles spikes something of a hit to his pride; Jason’s scars make him perfect. Every marr seems to drag eyes to travel him, roaming his body like a guide. His mind momentarily jumps to his own body; a cadaver with a pulse. Damians nose twitches in something resembling disgust. If someone else was under him they might take him condescending, another spike in his unbridled emotions. It’s not just anyone under him, It’s Todd. He reaches up and Damian jerks his face away from him momentarily but the grip is already there and Jason’s lips crash against his unceremoniously.

A breath.

Smoke invades his tongue as they meet, Damian inhales, the burn distracting him enough that he pushes him off, exhales the smoke. Jason takes the opening and strips Damian, but not fully; he can’t fully expose him out here- not with that reaction he’d just gotten. He knows that look, he’s had it before even midst the throes of sex. He Strips Damian just enough to expose his chest, his belly and hips when he rolls over him, letting him lay on his jacket and his own cape.  
All of this, Damian is silently thankful for; the long strips of scarring along his back covered and still cushioned, his chest shadowed by Jays broad shoulders from the glow of the city.  
Neither of them say it, but this round isn’t about the sex. It’s not about the pleasure of fucking on the rooftop in the early morning after a job well done. Rather, it’s more acceptance. Jason doesn’t find his body repulsive, Damian doesn’t sneer at his imperfections. Mutual understanding of death the other birds don’t understand. Mutual understanding of something the bat could never accept. 

Jay feels Damian hook the arches of his feet on his utility belt once it’s undone, gets a firm grip and pushes down almost painfully aggressive. Pinking welts spring to surface on his hips and thighs. Jason doesn’t hesitate, already the packet of lube is smeared over Damians entrance as he pushes in almost desperately.  
Like this, they copulate on the rooftop of some building along the docks. Silent. Desperate and in secret.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is based on muses I have with a few others. This may be considered Divergent for some, but not for others. It all depends which Damian and which Jason AU y'all affiliate more with.
> 
> \--Exploring another aspect they both share.

**He** can’t recall the last time he’s been breathless, winded with how long he’s been running. His blood pounding in his ears hard enough he can smell the tang of it. Wiping the sweat from his brow he expects leather on his mask but flesh meets his domino. His heart skips another precious beat. Fear grips his heart colder than any hand as it rips it through his stomach. He wants to vomit. His chest heaves even harder. Fingers snap to his temples, feeling along until they meet its edges. Like a rabid animal, he scratches desperately to rip it off. Jay wants to feel it rip from his skin, the glue-tight hold that keeps it on his face through sweat. He feels blood seep under his nails in his desperation. A guttural scream as panic fully settles into his veins. 

There’s a laugh he has heard far too many times before. A simple haha that always sends him into movement, though this time he can't steel his face, he isn’t a stone. Muscles on autopilot he flees again, endlessly down the paved streets of Gotham. He can’t smell the stench of the sewer, doesn’t pick up the burn of acrid pollution of a high population.  
Where had he parked the bike!? That fucking bike can’t be far!  
He damns himself, where was the planning?!  
Jason fights the need to gag, the churning of his stomach. Doesn’t dare scream for the bat, let alone look for his help. 

Hands on his shoulders have him screaming, he can see it coming, the flash of chipped red paint. 

“JASON.” he lays over him, his smaller frame pushing weight against him, to keep him from thrashing.  
PTSD.  
He has it too, another thing they relate to. 

Jason sits up with a start but is met with a crash into Damians’ chest, his weight instantly soothing as he slumps back against the bed.  
“You’re home,” Damian responds quietly. “Breathe. I’ll grab some water.” The offer is solid, knowing, Jason will always ask for a beer instead if not whiskey.  
Sitting up he gives in, nods. He’s a soaked mess of sweat and tears. Damian knows sweat from tears and he’s thankful Damian doesn’t make fun of these ones. He drapes himself over his knees as he catches his breath and rubs away the tears. Angry he doesn’t understand them. He doesn’t fear the Joker anymore. He doesn’t fear death the same way he had before. It’s only frustrating to him now that he still has the terror. 

Damian returns with two bottles, the hefty ones they use during training. For the gargantuan bottles, he’s thankful. Draining half of it, Jason catches his breath and rubs his face on his arm.  
“I don’t remember how we got home this time.” Damian nudges him, distracting him. Jay lifts his head.  
“We left the rooftop a few hours after sunrise.” That much Jay can recall; the bike ride home, Damian tucked against his chest and nodding off to sleep. They’d only been home a few hours when Jason had his terror; it was still early in the morning.  
He leans against Jay, nudging his arm around him so he can get closer against Jay’s chest. “Catch your breath.” Damian starts, an unspoken code between them (When you don’t look like hell), “I’m getting hungry. We can nap later, Todd.”  
A smile, nod, hugs him closer. “No rest for the wicked, huh?”  
Damian relaxes in his hold. “Rest is for the weak or some bullshit like that. Was that simple enough for you to relate to?” A tease.  
“Loud and clear, Boss. Waffles and ice cream?”  
Damian doesn’t need to answer. They speak plenty enough with their silence and gestures. They mean much more than thousands of strung together syllables.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is based on muses I have with a few others. This may be considered Divergent for some, but not for others. It all depends which Damian and which Jason AU y'all affiliate more with.
> 
> \--Sometimes people inadvertently make things so much harder for others than they mean to or realize.

**Jason** doesn’t need to share much for him to know something is wrong, much less when he’s there when it happens. It’s been a busy and rough month. Trafficking isn’t something either of them is exactly comfortable with but it’s not something you can show in their line. It’s even harder when you’re living multiple lives.   
A full week has passed and Jason wakes in night terrors. It ranges sometimes. One night it will be light, another might have him scrambling and dropping out of bed with a yelp.   
Certain things set them off.   
The others don’t know, and those who do, say little of it.  
Therapy doesn’t help people like Damian and Jay.   
Mentioning it just makes it worse.

Guilt settles into Damians bones as the week draws to an end. Damian can’t live here without raising Bruce’s attention. His son has to go home. Even if he says it is work; Bruce would come out here himself looking to lend his hand to end the job sooner than later. Even Damian has a hard time figuring it out; he and Jay have chalked it up to Bruce not trusting Damian, to missing him, to being distrusting of Jason(and for good reason considering how the two behave around one another).  
Jason knows it as well as Damian, they both feel the guilt settling into their every fiber; it’s not because of a sense of responsibility, but that understanding, again. Knowing that when the other wakes, there won’t be that weight, warmth, and voice to pull them from their terror. There won’t be that fine line they walk across, sure-footed as the blue funambulist himself. Jason will wake to a cold room, empty as the day he died. Damian will stare at the ceiling alone as he was in the desert, only the wind to rustle his sheets. 

“I’ll come back after my reports. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. An order, Todd.” He snaps finally, over their lunch. Jason has bags under his eyes, his hand bandaged.   
A lack of sleep leads to a misjudged landing. Thankfully his idiot ass rolled, too bad his idiot ass rolled onto his hand and sprained it. Even wrapped he could tell it was still swollen.   
“Yes, Boss.” Jason smiles for him. “I know. I’m not going to drain a bottle of whiskey and leap from the tallest height.”  
Even Damian can tell the smile is automation, “My phone will be on, you’ll call me once to let it ring. I will turn on the comms system to a private line.”   
If Damian is offering the private line he must look like complete and utter horse shit.   
“I know, D. You too. Just hit my number. I’ve got you.”  
Damian pretends to ignore the words, but it does soothe him, it settles into his gut, cushioning it from plummeting any further.   
“Drive me home. My legs are too sore to walk.” He gives an excuse. (I don’t want to go).  
Jason nods. Exhausted but never too far gone to drive Damian where he wants to go. No matter how far; any reason to hold him just a little longer. 

Jason sets the stub of his cigarette into the oily, easy over, eggs; they’re too overdone for him. Pays for their meal and helps Damian pack. Accidentally, or on purpose, Jay folds a shirt of his own into Damians duffle bag and straps in the bike. They have to share their departure kiss here, Bruce won't have it on the grounds at home. No intermingling; they’re brothers. Not in blood but on papers, under the same roof and of the same ‘ilk’ as far as Bruce is concerned.   
Jay lingers in the kiss, his hands cupping Damians cheeks, fingers on his pulse, committing it to memory all over again. It’ll be a bit before D can return to the flat and with their work, who knows when they will be able to meet next. He feels like he’s freefalling, nothing underneath of him to catch him in his fall. Knows that Damian is feeling the same.   
Damians fingers want to tug his shirt over his head, stun him for just a moment so he can push him into the bushes for a romp, but Jays exhausted as it is, and he’s driving. He can’t afford to lose this moron to exhaustion. He can’t be like this with a blood stain on the pavement. He can’t lose Jason to something so trivial. So easily avoidable. Damian, instead, settles his hands on his chest, sliding them up to feel the pulse at his neck, fingering along the precious vein.   
It takes them a long moment more before they part, lips swollen and numb. Jason gets on the bike next, Damian on his lap, their helmets on as Jason reluctantly peels out of the driveway and heads back towards Gotham, the knot in his gut growing ever more uncomfortable. Damian soothes him, A hand on his thigh, stroking and squeezing to remind him it’s alright. 

Wayne Manor is always eerily beautiful, it’s gothic, modern, musty and new. It’s everything Jason hates describing when Roy asks him what it was like being a robin. “What it was like living with a ‘sopping rich bachelor with the butler as his best friend, collecting little boys and girls to make them into scant clad soldiers’?”  
Damian thinks little of it. It smells perpetually wet, green, of bark and soil, fertilizers. Then the manor itself. Old.  
Jason taps the kickstand on his bike. Handing Damian his bag. It’s hard not to touch him like this. It’s harder not to kiss him. Neither of them wants to let go but Damian knows Bruce is watching as well as Jay does.   
“Next time I get to drive, Todd.” His voice is cold, matter of fact. (See you soon)   
“I told you, not this bike.” (I’ll talk to you soon).  
Damian turns on his heel and heads for the door. “Mind that you pay your respects to Alfred. You may not live here but it gives no reason you cannot show some manners.” (Just come in for a little…)   
“Fine. But just Alfred. Maybe the boys.” (I’ll stay for dinner, then. Just a little longer.) Getting off the bike he follows Damian inside and makes the rounds, greeting his brothers, Alfred. Even a small nod to Bruce.


	4. Claimed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is based on muses I have with a few others. This may be considered Divergent for some, but not for others. It all depends which Damian and which Jason AU y'all affiliate more with.
> 
> \--Damian makes it known.

Damian doesn’t immediately know what woke him, but he knows he’s not alone. The cameras are off. He knows that; he can hear it, rather, the lack of their silent existence. Checks his phone. No missed calls. Damian hasn’t heard from Jay in over two weeks; not that he’s made an effort to reach him. It’s not unusual to go a month, busy with work or exhaustion.   
He feels a muscle in his scalp twitch, his ear tracking a noise. “Come in. My door’s locked and Father is out on business.”  
Jason unlocks his window and slides in. He knows Bruce is away, Dick told him the schedule last week. Locking it behind him he leans in to kiss him.   
“Terrors?” Damian asks.  
“Still the same.” Jay crawls into bed with him, stripping quickly. “Cameras are shut off as of a few hours ago; I started the outage.”  
Damian only nods, Jay’s giving him old news, details Damian can figure out before even getting out of bed. He’s talking to fill the space, Jason’s over thinking again.   
“It’s okay. Me too.” he mutters. “But...” (Less terror. I hate what I look like)   
Jason kisses him. He knows what he didn’t say. “Let's curl up with a nap, then we can have sex; I’m dyin’ to get a wink.”   
That testifies to how exhausted Jason is. He would never turn down sex with him, let alone sex in the manor with Bruce out. He hugs him close, pulls him over his smaller frame, hiding under him as they settle under the sheets for a nap. It’s easier this way, He’s covered, Jason hiding his ugly striations of experiments past along his body. Hidden under his warmth it’s easier for him to sleep; he knows it’s easier for Jay too. Jason sleeps with the warmth he grounds himself to, the scent of Damian a constant that he can hold onto and remind himself where he is even in the deepest of dreams and nightmares. 

They wake some hours later, Jason wakes to a knock at the door. Damian is already awake; he’d heard the footsteps down the hall, listening to the pace- he’s already assumed they will stop at his door. The two communicate the same way they do in the field. Hand signals tell Jason he’s going to get under the bed and behind the case under that. Bruce’s first instinct is going to be to look in the closets, to peer under the bed. It’s the smell of Jason that Damian is going to have a hard time masking.   
“Give me a moment, father.” Damian chimes, not missing a beat as Jason snakes down the edge, timing his movements with Damians words and his own steps. Getting Jason’s shirt on he rustles the bed sheets and steps into his slippers.   
Another knock.   
Bruce is impatient.   
“I asked for a moment.” he huffs as he opens the door, Bruce stepping in a moment later. It’s an old manor, the floor creaks under his weight so subtly. It’s hard not to hone in on it when its competing with rain outside. Jason concentrates on his breath, slow, unwavering and silent.   
“The cameras are out.” Bruce hums softly, the time it took for Damian to answer his door told him all the answers he needed. Damian hasn’t made any indication there is an intruder, nor has he asked if any other cameras were out. Jason’s some where in here.  
“You woke me for a camera short?” Damian sighs, cards his fingers through his hair and sits on his bed. “Tell me there is more.”  
Listening to the two, Jason is hyper aware where they are, even if he can’t see them.   
He can hear Bruce’s foot touch his heel to carpet, his foot to hardwood, his shoes still crisp. They can’t be wet or Damian would be having a fit.   
“I didn’t wake you.” He shakes his head. “You were already awake. It doesn’t take a hound to know Jason’s in here.”   
Jason’s mind wanders to his bike; he’d parked a long ways away, hidden it even. There’s no way he found him through that. Fuck. His shoes? Had he seen those?! He thumbs his shirt, his pants and underwear. Socks…. No socks… they must be in his boots.. some where.

Damians’ eyes ignore the boots sitting at the edge of his bed, the blanket over top of them so only the bottom soles might be visible.   
“It’s his shirt.” Damian shrugs. “Are we done? I’d like to resume sleeping. I have a lot to do tomorrow morning.”He rolls his eyes, though it’s a cover and a prayer, Bruce is bending over the edge of his bed.   
As subtly as he can, Jason moves his shin, he can feel the luggage case rolling, moving as Bruce reaches for him. It’s not much longer before he makes contact, pulling the other out from under the bed. “There he is.”  
Jason has to arch his bottom, lifting his hips to keep his junk from sliding on the rug, though his knees, for it, take the brunt.   
“Fuck, Bruce!” He snaps, getting up to his feet as Bruce releases him. Damian looks away, there really isn’t an excuse for Jason to be in his room let alone nude in his room.   
“Jason, I haven’t banned you from the manor, why do you feel you need to sneak around and hide under Damians bed?”   
Jason says nothing to that, as far as he’s aware, Damian has said nothing about them for a reason.   
“He’s here for me.”   
“Well, I would assume so. He wouldn’t greet me without the suit.” he adds, deciding to test Damians reactions, Bruce trails the back of his finger down his chest. It pleases him to see that Jason still doesn’t pull away. He’s put the Robin suit so many times on him, it’s still ingrained.   
“It’s how he greets me. Cat’s out of the bag- Don’t you have a cat getting into a bank some where?” Damian raises his brow, urging the man out and his hands off Jason’s chest. It’s not that he’s unaware Jason is still touched by others, but he can’t claim Jay out in the field. He owns everything under this roof (So long as Bruce gives it to him).   
“Since when do you keep secrets from me, son?” Bruce’s tone is soft, drawn out a little more than usual as his fingers caress over Jason’s newer scars, particularly one over his abdomen, freshly healed. “Your work.” his eyes land on Damian. There’s no mistaking Damians handiwork. A clean heal on Jason’s body is hard to acquire, let alone getting him to stay still enough for the healing.   
“He’s mine.” His tone is flat, possessive, matter of fact. It is, after all, a fact. Jason belongs to him. Even Jason feels it, hears it. His eyes landing on Damians as they stare for a moment; more silent language.   
Bruce grips the back of Jason’s neck, pinching as he guides him out and down the hall. “Training room.” He barks, more to Damian than Jason; the older of the two has little choice.   
Walking, Jason feels his chest swell a little, its not just one emotion, but too many. This is the man he couldn’t trust to put a batarang through Jokers’ eye, the man he couldn’t trust to do what was right. Bruce is a lot of things to Jay, arousing is one of them. He can’t help but react to the dominating guidance at the back of his neck, nor can he ignore the new tone in Bruces voice. It helps that he doesn’t smell familiar. It’s not what Bruce smells like on patrol, leather and oil, he smells like a custom brand of cologne, a slight tang that sits at the back of his sinuses and warms him. When Damian moves he’s reminded that he’s walking just as the door shuts behind him. 

“You know he’s too young, don’t you, Jason?”  
He winces. He’s aware. They’re only a year or two off of where Damian should be ‘in the clear’.   
“I’m aware his age and I’m aware how old he is mentally. I’m not coercing him into anything.” Jay snaps at him as he’s pushed into the basement, the winding hall to the training room cold on his feet.   
Damian chimes in next.   
“Jason knows his place with me.” As he passes them in the room, his hand slides along Jays chest, soothing him. Their nerves are high enough with out Bruce lingering and breathing down their necks.  
The touch makes him shiver, licking his lips as Damian passes, a bag under his arm; no doubt a change of clothes so they won’t have to do the ‘walk of shame’ back upstairs and raise alarm of rumors to the others.  
Bruce doesn't respond to that. He doesn't need to. Jason belongs to the manor, safe here and away from the monsters outside the protection of his cowl and the numbers the boys hold. He'll remind Jason tonight, an in doing so, he'll remind his son the hierarchy. Once in a while, Damian needs it, Jason spoils him and it's getting harder and harder to control him and keep the boy from killing like the elder counterpart.   
"Perhaps. But you both need reminding of the house rules."


	5. No contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Damian explore what they share. It was more to see why the two get along so well despite their rough interactions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on muses I have with a few others. This may be considered Divergent for some, but not for others. It all depends which Damian and which Jason AU y'all affiliate more with.

Neither of them have been in contact for two weeks.   
Jason letting the bruises heal before he’ll face Damian again.   
There’s a difference in being vulnerable to Damian and being vulnerable with Damian that makes a large difference in how Jason feels; in how Damian feels, too, he’s sure.   
For the young Wayne, himself, it’s how Jason reacts. He’s aware Jason’s discomfort in appearing so vulnerable; be it the ‘event’ from the past or just that Jason feels he needs to be strong in front of him, he’s not sure. 

The day after the caves reminder, Jason had slipped from bed and left behind only a shirt he’d last worn and his jacket. Damian sitting up in bed alone, staring at the jacket haphazardly strewn over the back of his desk chair, knows better than to call him. Knees to his chest the minutes turn to an hour and Alfred is there with breakfast. Even he knows better than to collect Jason’s clothes from Damians room for wash, he’s known for a long time now. 

Jason’s room seems colder than usual and less inviting. His window is locked for now, not that Damian would try to pry in to see him early, but it's for his own comfort. Thumbing the bruises and pink welts he drops into his own thoughts. 

Days turn to a week, one week to two.   
Jason is the first to contact Damian.   
It’s on the boy’s solo patrol that he leaves his first clue. A small pile of shell casings where Damian often perches before he starts his route.   
The second night he sticks a note to the ledge with gum, only a number crudely scribbled there. It doesn’t take a sleuth to figure out what the number means in this writing. Jasons lazy scrawl; a number scribbled over his knee or a piece of armor.   
“I’m going silent for a while. I need to think.” He radios Bruce, severing connection and surfing the channels until he finds the correct one. He smiles to himself and, as wrong as it is, he wants to find trouble tonight. It’s always better with a bang.

Jason hears the radio hitch, some one’s joined the line, bringing a smile to his lips under the hood. It makes him grin when Damian doesn’t speak into the channel; in fact, Damian pulls his bag from where he’d stashed it earlier- changes out of the robin attire. Turning from his regular route, he knows exactly where he is headed- the outskirts of town. He’s LOOKING for trouble and a show. It doesn’t take long in this neighborhood. Easily, he thwarts a petty robbery, no longer in the robin colors he has no trouble using acrobatics to show off for his unseen audience. Damian keeps his face hidden under the hood, a bandana covering everything but his eyes.   
It’s definitely a sight. Damian is hypnotic with every slight of his body. He turns faster than Jason could comprehend and makes every movement following an absolute bomb.   
When he finishes the last man off, a loud smack of his cheek hitting the tile floor, Damian rolls back from the recoil, following through fluidly. Jason wouldn’t believe it if he didn’t just watch Damian spread his legs as they guided him softly to his feet. From where he hides on the rooftop of the building over, Jason soothes his groin idly, Damian makes it too difficult to wait. Even more difficult when Damian makes it obvious he knows.   
Staying long enough to help the shopkeep call the police and zip strap the assailants down, Damian finally speaks over chat.   
“Relative position.”   
“Follow the stars.” Jason teases him, flickers the light on his hood once to garner his attention; keen as Damian is, he’ll only need to do it once.   
True to his trust, Damian disappears, only to reappear ripping off Jason’s helmet. It falls with a loud crack, ignored as Jason falls back, the other straddling him and ripping off his hoodie.   
“Don’t bother” Damian snaps as Jason reaches to pull his wallet from his bottoms, already halfway down his thighs.   
He gives a breathy laugh as Damian shoves them down to his ankles.  
“Relax! I’m not going anywhere.”   
“-You’ve been gone long enough, you don’t need to go again.” he snaps. (I missed you)  
Jason curls up to kiss him, his hands stripping his clothes between articles of his own.   
The sex is desperate but sensual; the two of them have two weeks to make up for. This round doesn’t last long, Prep wasn’t needed, Damian saw to that before he had left for patrol. Didn’t mean Jay didn’t come unprepared, however. There’s a short walk to his bike, hidden in a walled-in alley, dawn still not yet illuminating the cracks between the buildings. They change into fresh clothes he’d brought for them; civvies. 

First order of business. Breakfast. Breakfast at a waffle diner.   
It’s quiet, the sounds of their forks and coffee mugs on the table. They still don’t need any words to express how much needs to be expressed; they’ve done that on the rooftop earlier.   
“Damian-”   
He shakes his head in response. There’s nothing else that needs to be said right now. At least not for him, it’s like this each time something like this happens. Every time Bruce takes a jab at Jason or tries to coax him back to the manor. He’s aware Jason shuts down. He doesn’t blame him- in fact, he, himself, would do the same thing.   
Jason purses his lips, it’s a lot easier to have their relationship in mutual silence, completely understanding with no other language between them than what they share. Smiling he exhales. “Coming home?” Jason doesn’t state which home but implies it’s theirs.   
As many times as Damian has heard it, and will hear it, it still brings a warmth to his heart so many other’s have told him to distrust. It’s hard not to take it to heart the way Jay says it. He’s genuine, sometimes too much so.   
This time Damian beats him to the punch, puts cash on the table to end their feast of waffles and jam so sweet it would be sickening if it were anyone else but Damian.   
“It better not be filthy.” Damian shakes his head; the answer is there in his wording.   
“I expect the bed to be ready and dinner to be hot.” he teases the other as they get up.   
Jason chuckles as they make their way home, Damian doesn’t waste any time letting himself in or shedding his clothes. Bite marks from earlier, bruises and hickies litter his body; even his fingerprints still ghosted into his skin.   
“You do it on purpose.” he smirks, Damian swaying his hips so softly, so hypnotic. Damian is definitely worse than a drug. He’s addicting every bit as he is an undeniable force. His hands reach to his hips, though they’re immediately swat away.   
“You’re wearing too much to access this ride.” the boy teases, his bare feet taking him to the bedroom.   
Fucking tease…  
He follows him, shedding his clothes, pushing his door open to find Damian already on the bed stroking himself, bottle of lube in hand. It’s no question why Damian has so much sexual energy, they had been apart long enough; Jason can relate to the feeling. It wasn’t a good feeling when Damian wasn’t in his bed, even worse just missing out on his voice. His expression softens as he crawls over the other, kissing him deeply. Their bodies not cold but goosebumps spilling and spreading at their touches. He’s always loved the way Damian arches into his palms, the subtle way the other's breath hitches when he touches certain points on his body. The moment he hears the hitch in his breath when he kneads just right. Damian doesn’t need to tell him what he likes. Jason knows it in the other's reaction when he feels those small, strong, hands explore his chest. Feels it in the way Damian traces his scars and stitches. He knows how Damian feels about it… About him.   
Jason’s fingers don’t need to stretch Damian open, not today or any other day, not truly. Damian’s body fits his so well, like memory. He simply guides himself into him, their breath shared as they nose at one another, unable to kiss as they pant so heavily. Their hearts pounding hard enough they can feel one another between them. He’s hyper-aware where he is inside of him the way Damian’s breath hitches with the slightest movement, his head turning to expose his neck to him. Taking the invitation, his nose ghosts along his jaw, following it behind his ear where his lips rest at the flat of his nape. Biting, pinning him, Jason marks him darkly, uncaring that it’s not where Damian can hide it.   
Pain doesn’t register the same way with Damian as it would someone else.   
It doesn’t make him cry out or whimper in a way that begs stop.  
He does make a noise, however, one that urges him more than anything. His body shivers, twice, hard, as his breath hitches again. Jason’s hands map along Damians arms, pinning them to the bed as he runs down his biceps, his forearms, along his wrists to lace his fingers with him. It’s romantic, yes, something neither of them are the best at, but it’s a fleeting moment of tenderness that neither of them are miffed about when Jason reveals why. He raises their hands above Damians head. They meet, Jasons one hand taking Damians’ wrists and pinning them above his head.   
It wouldn’t take much for Damian to snap the man’s grip, but that’s just it, he doesn’t want to, he wants it. He wants Jason to pin him harder, even. He wants Jason to take his breath away and not stop there.   
Damian isn’t disappointed. It takes a moment for Jason to readjust their position, Damian a thought before he complies; his body torquing just enough that Jason can straddle one leg, and grip the other’s thigh, pushing it to his chest.   
On display for him, Damian feels his hips widen, open, giving Jason full access to fuck him deeply, as hard as he wants or as soft.   
His body spread, Jason pounds him, counting on Damian to provide the resistance here. There’s a power that Damian reroutes to his wrists, pushing against the headboard methodically to push back against his thrusts. If Jason wasn’t hard before, he is now. Feeling muscles contract, feeling Damians strong bones and precise movements is enough to make Jason reap a mess in his drawers on a good day. Damian might be young, but the power in his small body could throw off anybody and their assumptions of him.   
His eyes scan along Damians body, twisted so softly, muscles so defined. His hair sweat slicked. Even looking as much like Bruce as he does, it’s not a turn off to Jay. Damian has his own fiery look to him, possibly even the side that pulls Jason in so helplessly.   
Damian must see it in the way he looks at him that he’s lost in him again. The leg closest to his chest is what leads, Jason unaware fully of what has happened until he’s halfway down. Damian is already rearranging their position. It’s a cool breeze over his cock when he’s pulled free, the boy dropping back down over his hips when he feels that heat again. Damian is over him, straddling his lap and already moving again. Bouncing with a mission.   
“Pay attention if you want to stay in charge, Todd.”  
His tone is sharp, strict; as if Jason had just failed the most basic of basic exams. It makes his chest hitch, his muscles jerking some as the heat rips through him yet again in excitement. There isn’t a moment to recover, burning white pleasure blinds him. Damian is driving himself down and grinding, pushing Jason, quickly, closer to his orgasm. His hands claw deep pink lines into Damians thighs, his hips, and calves.   
“Fuck… Dami.”   
The boy snakes down and over him, his hand strong and firm as his fingers pinch his jaw, forcing Jason to look at him. “Remember, I’m still in charge here. You’ll focus on me and stay here, not lost. You can do that while I sleep.” It’s a tease, of course, but just the way Damian says it makes his heart skip, jump and leap in his chest. He loves when the other takes that tone with him, commanding, demanding. Damian could be sick as sick could be and still command the vastest army the world had to offer. Damians hand grips around his throat, isolating his adam's apple and pinching just enough to slow his blood flow. Holding until Jason’s eyes fluttered, Dami watches his cheeks pink, his body struggle almost uncomfortably. He could kill Jason here, a large, more than capable, man, at his mercy, but the trust completely there.   
Trust.  
Damian loosens his grip as his lips crash against Jays. Jason trusts him, blindly. Ever loyal; without judgment. He needs him. Their tongues tangled and twine as his movements pivot from methodical and precise to hungry and desperate. Jason rolls over him, taking control again as Damian relents, legs spread for him as he keeps Damians prior pace.   
Like this they continue for what feels like seconds, lasting longer than either care to check the time for.   
Jasons fingers stroke and milk his cock, teasing his crown until Damian cries out, coming ropes between them, painting Jason’s belly and chest. A few thrusts more, Jason fills him, biting his shoulder to leave another mark, listening and feeling Damians every movement, every breath.   
Neither move right away.  
The two of them catching their breath as they listen to the traffic outside. People returning home. People picking up their children from the park around the corner. The city birds crying loudly to keep their territory. Somehow it’s all peaceful. It’s all relaxing when Damian is there under him. His breath soft and rhythmic.   
Sundown. The soft orange hue of the sun setting filters through the blinds. The sheets tangled about their feet, leaving their legs bare to be warmed by that is left of the sun.   
Hugged to Jason's chest, Damian idly strokes his back, carding his fingers through his hair, eyes closed as he listens to the same sounds, the soothing slow pace of Jason’s breath.   
It’s an early evening nap for them, no nightmares or anxiety driven terrors. They sleep soundly, restful and sated.


End file.
